Paper Valentines
by Kinderby
Summary: [Plan on Me universe] Modern AU, post-book. Scarlett, Rhett, and the kids deal with car troubles, cupcakes, and cards. One-shot.


_A/N: Happy Valentine's Day! And happy happy birthday, dear lostie!_

 _This is a short companion piece to another story I'm writing. Both are set after the book, but this is a prequel-ish one-shot to that longer story. I A Beautiful Mind-ed a timeline for all the parts of the overarching story (there may or may not have been a spreadsheet involved) just to make sure the events flow properly, but I don't really want to nail down specific dates to anything. If you're confused, let me know and I'll try to explain, but this is the most straightforward one: February, around five months after Bonnie's death._

 _I'm very interested in your thoughts, whether it works for you. Modern sensibilities make their interactions so fascinating to me._

 _Y'all, I got my first flat tire on my way out of work today. Life imitates art! Too funny._

* * *

 _Paper Valentines_

Scarlett banged a fist on her steering wheel, but the cars in front of her still didn't move. "Shit!" Now she was stuck in traffic _and_ her hand ached. The stupid meeting with Ashley had taken longer than she'd anticipated, and now she was going to miss most, if not all, of Ella's class Valentines party. Her gas light had been on since the drive to work yesterday, and there just hadn't been _time._ Now the miles remaining ticked steadily downward, and this infernal traffic wasn't going anywhere. She looked longingly over at the plastic containers of cupcakes sitting on the passenger seat. Dozens of red velvet, with cream cheese frosting, inches from her hand. Would anyone notice if one was missing? The kids probably wouldn't finish a whole cupcake each, anyway, right? Too much sugar for a classroom of second-graders. Mrs. Picard probably didn't approve of store-bought treats, but these were cupcakes from Atlanta's _best_ bakery, and sometimes, Scarlett thought angrily, single-ish working mothers just didn't have _time_ to make perfect soy-free, vegan, paleo snacks for twenty children. Ants on a log were disgusting, anyway, and besides: peanuts.

Cars ahead of her started to move, and she turned her attention back to the road. There was really no way to hide a missing cupcake, anyway, and Mrs. Picard would be sure to notice, and sit in judgment of her for, an odd number like twenty- _three_.

Fifteen minutes later, she was still at least ten minutes away from the school and Ella's party. Chalk up one more in her eternal list of failures as a mother, she supposed. Glancing in the mirror, she noticed the furrows this thought process was causing between her eyebrows. She smoothed them out with a finger.

A Taylor Swift song came on, and Scarlett jabbed a different preset button so hard her finger hurt. She'd loved that song at first, but Bonnie had, too.

One rare night when Rhett was entertaining clients at a fancy dinner, Ella had been practicing ballet in the family room. Bonnie scampered in and started imitating her big sister. Scarlett, going over some reports at the kitchen table, had been annoyed by the noise, and got up to move to her office. Bonnie, seeing her walk past the doorway, yelled to her. "Momma, we're dancing! Come see!"

Scarlett had little interest in watching ballet practice, but Bonnie so rarely asked for her company. Who needed it, she thought darkly, when her father was around? It occurred to her that an impromptu ballet session would be a perfect scene for Rhett to observe when he came home. Did terrible mothers sit as audience for home recitals? Hardly. And watching Bonnie and Ella together was always surprisingly charming.

A jumble of motives, good and bad, only some of which were clear to her, Scarlett let herself be led to the couch.

"Sit," Bonnie commanded, with all the terrifying force of a toddler. Scarlett smiled. And sat.

Bonnie concentrated studiously on the positions of Ella's feet, and went through the motions of first through fifth positions a couple of times, before she lost interest in the exercises, and began to twirl around to her own imagining. Just as Scarlett's mind started to wander back to work that needed finishing, her toe tapping in impatience, Ella came to stand before her.

"Mother, do you want to dance with us?" she asked, shyly, her cheeks pink with embarrassment. The question startled her so much that she couldn't answer immediately. If Bonnie seldom asked for her company, Ella almost _never_ did.

 _"Dance!"_ Bonnie cried, her childish tone authoritative but excited, being neither shy nor afraid of Scarlett like Ella so often, frustratingly, was.

Scarlett stood, and to her surprise, Ella tugged at her hand, pulling her toward the 'stage.'

She twirled her small daughters around gently, before Bonnie's natural exuberance demanded a faster pace. Scarlett pulled out her phone and handed it to her youngest child to pick the song she wanted (God forbid Rhett choose _this_ moment to walk in the door) and for once, it felt like, she was lucky. The poppy drums sounded the catchy beat, and the phone was back in her pocket before anyone could be accused of allowing too much screen time, ruining eyesight, posture, brains, and lives. Haters _were_ going to hate, and why did she suddenly care when she never had before?

Down that road were more melancholy thoughts, which Scarlett determinedly pushed aside. She let herself be caught up in Bonnie's open cheerfulness, smiled at Ella, her face now pink with excitement and exertion, and let herself be silly. Scarlett hadn't had time for silliness in years – it was strange and wonderful, she thought, almost meditatively, as she waved her arms around, for once not caring how she looked. The girls were laughing, and Scarlett laughed, too.

A horn blared, startling Scarlett back to the present and the scene of traffic in front of her. It was no wonder that Rhett had loved Bonnie's company so. She brushed away a tear that had gathered in the corner of her eye and cleared her throat.

Several minutes later, having left all civilization behind, she finally reached her exit. One without gas stations, because that would have been too much to ask, and as the kids' fancy little day school sprawled across almost a hundred acres down a country road, she wasn't in a lot of luck there, either. _Alpharetta_ , she thought angrily, even though she was not, strictly speaking, in Alpharetta. They never should have come here.

She was calculating that she had just enough gas to get them back to _somewhere with a damn gas station_ , she muttered, when the last tiny bit of her luck finally ran out. She didn't even see anything in the road, but she heard the pop, and the car veered—only slightly, but enough. She heard the buzzing silence, a muffled tapping. She was sweating and crying, her body shuddering. She threw the car into park, and staggered out of it, gulping mouthfuls of cold air. It felt good on her clammy skin.

She pressed her palms against the smooth, unblemished glass and metal of her car. _In_ , _out_ , she breathed. _In. Out._ A bird was chirping somewhere in a tree nearby.

Once she came back to herself, she wiped her face with the backs of her hands and walked around the car. Just as she thought, an _enormous_ nail in the front passenger tire. Not even a slow leak kind that she'd still be able to drive on; the tire was already getting flat. Which, she knew somewhere in the back of her mind, anyway, from the sound it had made.

 _I literally hate everything_ , she thought.

She ticked through a short list of people she could call. There was Out of Town, Unable, Busy, and Hell No. Just perfect. Hell No it was. She hadn't seen him in a few weeks—not since Wade's birthday, but he'd been… better. Much better, considering. Relatively. She resignedly picked up her phone and dialed.

He picked up after two rings.

Her stomach swooping wildly around her body, she plunged ahead not bothering with pleasantries.

"Hey. I'm on my way to Ella's school to bring cupcakes for her class party, but I— got a flat tire. I could walk there, but then we'd have no way to get back. Can you get here? It's on your way. I mean, the exit is. Wait, are you even in town?"

 _"I'm in town, Scarlett."_ Her traitorous skin tingled at the way her name sounded in his voice. She rolled her shoulders to relax.

"Oh! Perfect. If you can—"

 _"I can be there in twenty minutes."_ They spoke over each other.

"Okay. Thank you. See you soon," she said in goodbye, and hung up. She breathed out, feeling at once relieved and more agitated. Her hands were shaking. Her heart beat so hard in her chest she felt sick with it.

Exactly twenty minutes later, little clouds of dust puffing up from the road in her rearview mirror signified Rhett's arrival, and she watched a dark blue BMW pull off the road onto the shoulder in front of her.

Rhett stepped out of his car, and Scarlett squared her shoulders and followed suit. It was Valentine's Day.

Rhett had always teased her that he had no intention of celebrating a day invented by capitalism (nothing against capitalism, of course, only being a capitalist himself, he didn't spend money needlessly) but he had always found her the season's earliest daffodils. Even last year, when their fighting had been at its then-worst. Presented almost without comment, only a strange, somber note in his eyes that she felt in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't known what it meant, and she blushed, stammering her thanks as she turned away.

"Thank you for coming," she offered. They could at least start out on the right foot. She felt a quick rush of shyness, an odd thing considering their roles the last time they had been alone together. If _anyone_ should feel shy or embarrassed… She pushed the thought away.

"It was the least I could do." He spoke quietly, as someone who had forgotten the proper volume for conversation with other human beings. His dark voice pressed up against her ribs. She heard him clearly.

He leaned over to look at her tire. "Nail?"

Scarlett nodded.

He walked closer and stopped, a foot away from her. "I can call my car service. I'll bring you to the school and drive you both home."

Scarlett looked up at him, startled. His dark eyes were empty, ghostlike. She shivered. "You don't have—"

"Scarlett—" he interrupted her. "Yes, I do."

"Thanks," she said, almost whispering. She looked up at him again. "Tell them I need gas, too." Her face colored as she said it, expecting rebuke for being careless. Not even a flicker of blame. It made her feel worse.

"Let's go," he said, and held out his hand. Her heart performed a couple of neat backflips.

"The cupcakes," she said, motioning over her shoulder to the front passenger seat. She turned away, wondering if he would read her skittishness as childish immaturity, and whether or not she cared if he did.

She grabbed the two plastic trays with relative ease, and scooted back out. Her bag fell off her shoulder as she tried to shut the door with her hip, and the cupcakes wobbled. Rhett walked over, swiftly and unhurried, and took the treats from her.

"Thanks," she muttered, fishing around in her purse for her keys being the perfect excuse not to look at him. Her fingers closed around the little fob, and she pressed the right button. The little _fwunk_ of the doors latching made her feel the tiniest bit better. Mechanical, computers, and math. No agendas, no motives. Things that didn't fail.

She turned and reached to take the cupcakes back from Rhett.

"Red velvet," he commented, as she retook the burden.

"I know." she said, hoping it didn't sound defensive, fighting a stupid urge to physically shield the dumb things from his sight. "They're Ella's favorite, too."

"Of course."

They walked to his car, and drove up to the school in silence.

Ella's classroom wasn't far down the hall. They were tardy, but not as late as she had expected. The ranks of the class had thinned just the slightest. Scarlett quickly counted fourteen kids remaining. One for judgey Mrs. Picard, and even if some of the other parents wanted one, her odds of drowning her sorrows in sugar tonight were not too bad. She smiled.

Ella had not seen them come in. She sat in a chair facing away from the door, deep in conversation with a little classmate over the book they were both holding.

"Mr. and Mrs. Butler. How nice of you to join us," Mrs. Picard said. Scarlett heard derision, but when the teacher's eyes met her own, her face was perfectly pleasant, her eyes even… understanding.

"I'm sorry we're late. Flat tire," she said, confused.

Ella, always attuned to the sound of her mother's voice, now more than ever, swiveled in her chair. Her small, oval face, already bright with excitement at Scarlett's presence, took in first the cupcakes she was holding, and then the figure of Uncle Rhett standing next to her. Her expression at seeing them arrive together was so sweetly happy, so open and forgiving, Scarlett felt her heart thump sickeningly. Cruel of them, to come together—why hadn't she thought of that?

She shook her head, a quick, silent jerk, and sweet, biddable, distracted Ella somehow took in Uncle Rhett's stiff, uneasy posture and her mother's sad, serious eyes. Her smile dimmed, but did not fade away. She ran over to her parents, and threw her arms around Scarlett's waist.

Scarlett still wasn't used to affectionate gestures from her other children. She blinked back tears, and shifted the cupcakes to one hand so she could wrap one arm around her daughter's shoulders.

She felt Rhett take the desserts from her again, and heard him set them on the nearby table.

Ella leaned away a bit and asked, "Red velvet?" Scarlett smiled and nodded.

Shyness taking over once more, Ella ducked her head again, and somewhat hidden in Scarlett's leg, looked over. "Hi, Uncle Rhett." Her voice was soft. Full of grace.

"Hi, sweetheart." He smiled at her, and Scarlett was pleased to see that he looked… genuine. Pained, but not angry. Never that, again.

That evening, Scarlett sat at the breakfast table, watching Ella finish a math worksheet. Wade was up in his room. Ella looked up, brushing hair out of her eyes. "Did you still want to see the Valentine, mom?"

Scarlett did not, really. This day had already been excruciatingly trying. The meeting, car crap, Rhett, the party. As he drove them home, Ella said, _"I made a Valentine for Bonnie. Do you want to see it?"_ Scarlett felt the blood drain from her face and glanced quickly at Rhett. He stared straight ahead, almost as if he hadn't heard. Scarlett twisted around toward the backseat.

 _"I'll look at it when we get home, okay?"_ Ella nodded.

"Of course," she answered.

Ella dug in her backpack, and pulled out a piece of red construction paper. It was folded down the middle, and one corner had turned up, pressed against the book in her bag. Ella smoothed it out with concentration and handed the card to Scarlett. "They didn't have blue paper," she explained.

Scarlett stared at the white lace heart glued to the front. Opening the card, she read in Ella's scrawling, but surprisingly promising handwriting, "I love you, Bonnie. We miss you. Love, your sister Ella."

Ella was looking at her, worry creasing her forehead, when Scarlett looked up. "Do you like it?"

She wiped the tears from her face so they would not fall onto the card. "It's perfect, Ella."

Ella smiled, and returned to her worksheet.

Later, after Scarlett had tucked her daughter in and said goodnight to Wade, she poured a glass of Malbec and put a cupcake on a napkin to carry to the family room. TV sometimes lulled her to sleep these days.

She flipped through channels as she nursed her wine and ate dessert. Why did Hallmark seem to have forty-seven channels now? How many times did people need to see the big-city workaholic leave behind a well-paying job to save a dumb old town that refused to modernize? Finally, she gave up searching and pressed the channel number for Bravo. Vanderpump to the rescue.

Just as she lay back against the cushions, she had a thought. She sat up and swung her wine glass between her fingers. Might as well refill while she was up.

In the kitchen, Scarlett picked up Ella's Valentine on the table, smoothed out the corner again, and stuck the card to the refrigerator with her Uga magnet. She ran her fingers over the lace heart. It hurt almost more than she could bear, yet Ella's sweet, simple message also eased something in her chest, a heavy weighted tightness that she hadn't realized was there.

Lying back on the couch, she let the sound of backbiting twentysomethings whose biggest problems were whether _she_ was going to _her_ party wash over her.

She closed her eyes, and fell asleep, thinking, _I_ _love you, Bonnie. We miss you._


End file.
